People sometimes hold onto the past, better times longer than they would admit.
0o0o0o
Ludwig didn't want to wake up. He lay in bed, sunlight painting red onto his eyelids, trying to hold onto the gauze of sleep before he had to face a world without his big brother.
Last night felt like a dream now, a nightmare, except when Ludwig finally opened his eyes, the house was silent and still and devoid of what it needed.
Ludwig felt like his bones were filled with lead. Gilbert would come in soon enough, telling him that there were pancakes and it was time to get up and live and Ludwig couldn't do this.
Ludwig lay there, staring at the ceiling, filled with a kind of pain so heavy it made even thinking impossible. Eventually, there was a knock at the door. Gilbert barely ever knocked.
'Come in,' Ludwig heard himself say, as if from a distance. His voice sounded too flat and calm to belong to him anymore. Vati opened the door.
'I'm sorry,' he said. Ludwig pushed himself up on his elbows, squinting into the too-bright sunlight. Everything hurt, but especially his head. It would be easy to blame Vati for this. It would be easier to blame Gilbert, but the only person Ludwig blamed in the end was himself.
Antonio had said Gilbert stayed for him, and then something changed and it hadn't been enough.
There was a pressure building in his chest, the kind that never unraveled and only came out with raging, screaming fury. His voice came out calm again.
'I'll make breakfast.'
'It's already done.' Vati looked almost fearful for once, and he came closer slowly, like he could feel the wounded, pained thing that had replaced Ludwig's heart, and when Ludwig didn't protest, sat down on the bed.
'Are you angry?' he asked. Ludwig didn't know. He shook his head. Vati looked him over, taking in how he'd grown like he had not for too long. 'You should be,' he said finally. 'For us always arguing.'
'I used to be,' Ludwig said, and Vati almost flinched. He shut his eyes against the sun, his headache sharpening to a dagger point. 'I-I want to go eat something.'
Vati looked like he wanted to push the issue, but he backed away, lingering at the door before he disappeared down the stairs.
Breakfast tasted good until Ludwig tried to remember if he knew how to cook things like this and all he could think of was Gilbert grinning and sneaking bits of bacon to his canary, and then everything tasted like dust.
His headache was getting worse, and he was dizzy, and Ludwig wondered if he had a hangover. The thought came unbidden that he could have asked Gilbert on how to help with that, and Ludwig clenched his hands on the edge of the table with the burst of fury that shot through him-fury that wasn't directed at Gilbert, but more at himself, bitter and full of blame.
Vati was looking concernedly at him, and Ludwig loosened his grip and tried to explain.
'I have a headache,' he said. 'And my head feels fuzzy.'
Vati looked like he understood, and gave him a cup of tea. Ludwig had a feeling he knew it wasn't a normal headache. As bad as the faint hangover was, Ludwig half-wanted the bubbling happiness that had come from the drinking, mixed with the headiness of Feliciano's hand in his and his mouth and-
Thinking of that was too complicated right now and so Ludwig focused on his food instead and tried to think of nothing.
The calendar said it was Monday, and so Ludwig had to go to school without his big brother. He moved mechanically, finding clothes, working out until his arms burned, some naive part of him still in denial, thinking Gilbert would come back at school. The only time he felt present was when he looked up into the mirror and saw he'd pushed his hair back like Vati, and he was about to undo it when he remembered Gilbert ruffling his hair with his indulgent only-for-him laugh and whether it was spite or pain that sparked through him, Ludwig couldn't tell, but he left his hair up.
Ludwig wondered if people would talk about Gilbert leaving, but he remembered almost disgustedly that it was normal for Gilbert to run away. Everyone would only talk if Gilbert didn't come back after a few days. Still, when he walked, people stared, and moved out of the way, and Ludwig thought about becoming just as sharp as his brother so people would never ask where he had went.
Ludwig spent lunch near the bleachers, hoping for a hint of white hair. He saw nothing, and so he walked home alone, and that was okay, because Gilbert could still come back, and life would go back to normal. Normal with arguments and fear and everything else, and Ludwig felt a flare of anger at how Gilbert could do that, how he could make everyone else depend on his firebrand smile and use that to play every game by his own rules.
The house was too silent in the afternoons. There was a gaping hole torn out of life and all that was left was an empty room.
Ludwig couldn't concentrate, and so he eased open the door of his brother's room, wondering if there was some sort of hint to anything that would make this all okay. He moved automatically to the bed, feeling underneath for a shoebox. There were two. One was filled with sheet music and books, books that taught Polari and how to tell if someone else was like you. There were 'codes' about earrings and phrases and nicknames, and Ludwig found himself curled against the bed, drinking in the knowledge that there was a whole world of this, that they weren't alone, weren't anomalies. It felt like Gilbert was chuckling against his hair, helping him turn the pages, telling him to look, baby brother, look at our history.
Except their own history was that Gilbert was gone, and Ludwig felt suddenly cold and closed the book.
The second box was taped shut and shoved in the back. Ludwig had to find his pocketknife with the name he wanted to scratch out of the handle to slice it open, and inside were dozens of diaries. Ludwig picked up one and flipped it open. It was dated to when they still lived in Berlin, and penned in a childish scribble.
Dear diary,
Ludwig is doing really well in school and Vati says he can probably apply for a better school in Russia once he graduates.
I don't want him to go so far away, but he'll be good there, and besides, I can tell everyone my baby brother is studying awesome important things.
Ludwig's throat felt thick, and he closed the book. He searched for a more recent one. The last one was only half-completed, with half the pages still pristine. The desperation was bookmarked with a glossy strip of paper. The last entry was in a shaky scrawl.
Dear diary,
I'm going downtown on Sunday and Roddy wants to come with me. I told him not to be stupid. He's going to lose his job. He didn't listen and I can't let him run off by himself, so I have to take him.
He says it's partially my fault for being so loud about this. I know I shouldn't be. I know, but all that flies out of my head when I think about how people can hurt him, or Ludwig.
Ludwig still thinks I don't know how deep in he is. He doesn't understand how people get hurt this way, but he's so young and so head over heels, and Feli is so good for him. I'm happy for them, really, but I should be the one who is making Ludwig feel better, not sending him into this.
He thinks the worst thing that can happen is you losing your job or something, he's so drunk on love. I wish I was still like that.
Ludwig closed the diary, feeling worse. Gilbert was an enigma the further he went, the most secretive person Ludwig knew. Ludwig couldn't even keep his thing with Feliciano secret.
He picked up the bookmark, hoping to put the diary back how it was-just in case-and noticed the lettering on it.
The Homosexual Virus - Punishment From God?
Ludwig's thoughts locked, and he stared, like the red lettering was a Red Army officer, paralyzed with instinctual fear. The bookmark, which Ludwig now realized was a pamphlet, was covered in blue scribbles.
The booklet pointed out cases of previously healthy gay men with unusually aggressive diseases that often proved fatal. It attributed these deaths to God, to some idea of punishment for simply being themselves. Gilbert's notes covered the margins, disputing the punishment, self-assured and confident on the surface with an obvious tone of fear underneath. When the pamphlet began to shout about how anyone gay could have it, how the virus infected people, how they died, Gilbert only had one legible note among the responses scribbled out and rewritten over and over. Like Feliciano trying to end a letter, but there was no love here.
Get tested
Ludwig felt cold down to his bones, like ice water ran through his veins instead of blood. Like he'd cut open on these sharp, accusing words and spill out icicles.
He carefully put the pamphlet back, hands moving on autopilot, and finally went back to his room and opened the window. The cool air was nice on his face, and if he looked down, regular fear jolted him out of his numbness and terror for a second. He needed to keep moving because if he stopped for a second he would never move again. The weight of Gilbert's decisions fell on his shoulders like stones.
He should talk to Feliciano, because Feliciano would understand all of this and he was probably worried, and all of that just made that snarl of pressure in his chest grow to breaking point, and before Ludwig realized what he was doing, he was on the ground and there was a moment of clear fury before he slammed his fist into the wall. He understood why Francis had done it-it was when you could not fix an unfixable thing. Agony licked lines up his veins in fire-coloured streaks but he didn't care, he didn't care about anything except that his brother was gone. Ludwig couldn't breathe or think or do anything but try to feel over and over again this horrible, horrible pain.
Maybe he was roaring some incomprehensible word which was a plea and a furious scream and everything he'd ever not said, like stop fighting and I want to leave and do you know the world is not entirely yours and I loved before you told me how, but it didn't matter because Vati was out looking like always and Gilbert would never listen.
'Ludwig!'
Hands around his chest and Feliciano was surprisingly strong in his panic, dragging him back to lay, panting and exhausted, in the grass. Ludwig lay staring up into the blue sky, drained of everything. Feliciano was half-propped over him, his beautiful golden eyes shining with tears that spilled over his eyelashes. Ludwig tried to reach up and brush them away, but Feliciano held his arm down.
'Don't-' Feliciano was shaking now, shaking his head, body trembling. 'Don't do things like that. Ever. Ever!'
'I'm sorry, Feliciano,' Ludwig said, and his voice finally matched the brokenness left behind where the false calmness had been-rough and cracking over the syllables of his name. His hands felt like they were broken.
Feliciano shook his head again, his words coming out a choked mess, and bent down and pressed their mouths together. Ludwig came up to hold him in surprise, and Feliciano let him.
When they stopped, Feliciano had a smear of blood on his cheek, and when Ludwig leaned up to wipe it away, Feliciano grabbed his hand.
'Promise me you'll never do that again,' he whispered.
'I won't, Feliciano, it was just-' Ludwig had no explanations. He'd acted on impulse and fury and paid for it. 'I wasn't thinking. I won't, I promise.'
'I know.' Feliciano wiped at his face and sat up, pulling Ludwig further into the backyard. 'I heard...I heard what happened yesterday.'
'Gilbert left,' Ludwig echoed. He leaned closer, willing to let himself have this. 'Don't apologize.'
'Fine, but-' Feliciano took his hand, wincing at the scrapes and cuts. 'Oh, Ludwig.'
'I'll pay the price tomorrow,' Ludwig said. 'It was because of Gilbert, by the way. This.'
'He'll come back,' Feliciano said, and gently squeezed his hand, but there was a fear in his eyes he couldn't hide because Feliciano's emotions were written on his face like purple cursive script, and Ludwig raised a hand to his face and tried to feel if he was grimacing or frowning or anything, but he was still just drained. The only point of him that was warm and feeling was where Feliciano's hand was in his.
Ludwig nodded because it was the right thing to do, but what Feliciano didn't know was that Gilbert chose his pride first and everything else later, and Ludwig hadn't told him about Antonio and probably never would because it was too painful now that Gilbert hadn't stayed for him.
0o0o0o
Arrogance is not always obvious. Sometimes, it is people making decisions for everyone based on their experience.
:: Watching the sunset before going back inside and finding it too dark